


Working Men's Blues

by rainyrocket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:56:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainyrocket/pseuds/rainyrocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU for 5x16 Surely two hunters good enough to get the drop on Sam and Dean would know that you have to salt and burn the bodies. Spoilers up to 5x16</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Men's Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This little story is a prompt filling for the sharp teeth community at livejournal, the original prompt was:
> 
> AU for "Dark Side of the Moon". Surely two hunters good enough to get the drop on Sam and Dean would know that you have to salt and burn the bodies.
> 
> I gave it a mature rating because the story is a bit on the gory horror side ;) ...
> 
> word count: 1,609  
> spoilers: up to 5x16  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not even in parts.

 

 **WORKING MEN’S BLUES**

 _A Supernatural Fan Fiction_

written by rainyrocket

  
"Watch it," Dean said --

No, I said, me said, Roy said.

"What d’you doin,’ Roy?"

"Writin’ it all down, for future generations. Same as John Winchester did. Read i’ all in t’ Supernatural books."

"Yeah, whatever, lets roll ‘fore someone spots the dead Winchester spawn in the back."

Roy shrugged, I mean I shrugged, ‘cause I’m Roy and said to Walt, "Walt," I said, "nobody’ll suspicious, look," I pointed a’ the back of the Pick-up, a rusty one, index finger reached well into the loadin’ space, my index finger, Dean, Dean Winchester’s index finger reached well out of it, so yeah, that could turn into a problem, so I bended i’ a bit, it broke in the middle, like a twig, made tha’ noise, like eatin’ extra crunchy peanut butter. I secured the plastic wrapping and gone were anythin’ Dean Winchester.

"Better?" I asked Walt and Walt said "Looks like we got a few dozen bags of fertilizer loaded in the back of the car. How’s that not suspicious, Roy?"

"Well," I scratched my head, I was sweating beneath the wool mask, and the sweating lead to itchin,’ so I scratched, my head, "maybe we shouldn’t have cut ’em up in this many pieces -- "

"We had to," Walt said, gettin’ into the driver’s seat, I followed, but got into the passenger’s seat, ‘cause only one man can drive. "Those Winchesters," that was Walt again, "have a way of comin’ back, not just sometimes, but always i’ seems."

"Yeah, I read Mystery Spot, tha’ was crazy."

"Don’ read that shit, man."

"But it helped us find ’em."

"There idioticity helped us find ’em, not any gospel."

"I’d like to have a gospel, jus’ imagine, THE GOSPEL of ROY & WALT, in big letters, man."

Walt said nothing, just drove off, we couldn’t salt’n’burn the Winchesters on a parking lot. Shoot ’em and cut them to pieces in a motel room, yeah, that was easy, it was still early, sun barely up, only two or three people runnin’ around town. So it was easy, as I said.

Finding ’em was too, as Walt said. That writer guy, Carver Edlund, helped us, he wrote those books about t’ Winchesters, they stopped after Dean went to hell, bu’ some girl posted all the unpublished stories on her journal. Walt and me got the tip from a demon, also told us about Sam and the apocalypse.

We just wanted to know where t' nest was, because demons nest nowadays, most of ’em used to be loners, but now, with the frickin’ Winchesters and the apocalypse everyone wants a piece of the damn cake.

The girl demon was tied to a chair, devil’s trap above her, holy water down her throat, she was screaming, we were shooting her with salt rounds, puttin’ more salt into the open wounds, she was screamin’ more.

Then she was talkin,’ a lot, never stopped, Walt then whispered the latin into her ear, and she went to hell, swirling in pain, promisin’ us a postcard. Can’ wait.

After that me and Walt went after the Winchesters, Sam had to die, he was evil, he is evil, wherever he is, I hope in hell, hope Dean’s not, Dean’s a good guy, but he’d have killed us, then’d have find a way to bring Sam back, I’ve read all the stories about them, that’s what always happens, one dies, the other one brings ‘im back or goes buckshot crazy.

 o ~ o ~ o ~ o

We found them in a bar, frickin’ drunk, Sam couldn’t even walk anymore, he crashed against their car’s sidedoors, lay there, ass up to greet the stars and heavens above him. Seemed to be nothin’ new to Dean, he not even chuckled, Walt and I did, the cute girls behind us did, hell, the guy on the newspaper stand and his dog did.

Frickin’ Dean Winchester did not, jus’ moved around the car, pulled Sam up at the hips while openin’ the back door and threw him on the back seat, face first. They drove back to the crappy motel their were stayin,’ and did I use the word "back" too often here? Tellin’ stories is kinda new to me, I bet you can understand.

Dean drove slowly an’ on the wrong side of the street, didn’t matter, i’ was late an’ not a lot of traffic out there, just a grey Volkswagen, a silver-blue station wagon, and me and Walt in our red Pick-up.

Walt and me waited until the Winchesters were in their room, then got our masks an’ guns and walked up to a window, it was open, those boys are sloppy.

The light was still on, the Winchesters just lost their jackets an’ went straight to bed, beer cans were all ‘round ‘em, bottles of whiskey on the nightstand between their beds. Sam moved an’ Walt and me took a step back. Walt stepped on a cat, the cat yowled, scratched Walt’s leg and fled. Yowl was loud, and Walt and me froze, because the window was open an’ Sam’n’Dean were hunters, wasted or not.

Sam looked in our direction, tried to stand up, a low grumble in his voice; he stared, stared a long time, moved closer to the window, right next to the door an’ stood up to his full size, for a second, then he bend over and puked in the garbage can. That awoke Dean, he was mumblin’ somethin’ I couldn’t understand, and Sam was mumblin’ somethin’ back I couldn’t understand.

Walt and me got bored with ‘em, we wanted to kill ‘em, now, life’s too short for a mumblefest of the Winchester brothers. Also the sun would be up in a couple of hours, people would wake up, go to work --

"Watch it."

Roy pushed me in the side.

"What? What’s to watch?"

"No, tha’ was Dean, I think he was talkin’ to us."

Walt whispered, I did not.

"Don’ think so."

Dean was standin’ a’ the window, but not lookin’ at us. He was looking at Sam, who was swayin’ and about to have a run-in with the table. Scratch that. He ran into the table an’ got send sprawlin’ to the floor.

"Dean, did you put the table there?"

"Yeah, so you can fall over it."

"That’s good then."

"Yeah, come on."

Dean helped Sam up and they finally went to sleep, with the lights out.

 o ~ o ~ o ~ o

The sun arose and the Winchesters were dead. Walt and me wanted to make sure they’d stay tha’ way.

We started with Sam, cut off ‘is head. The slice was easy, the knife sharp. Walt was grabbin’ Sam’s head by the hair, long and floppy it fell over his closed eyes, blood was dripping out of the open neck wound; Walt wrapped it up quickly and threw i’ on Dean’s chest.

Sam’s bed was already drenched completely, the blood, Sam’s demon infected blood, was shooting out of the neck stump by gallons, somehow the boy must have had more of i’ then normal people, I swear.

After Walt got a few towels out of the bathroom to lay around the bed to catch Sam’s blood we took him apart completely. Once my knife broke, at his right hip, standing out mockingly, I got a new one and went off to cut off Dean’s head right afterward.

Walt finished wrappin’ all the Sam parts up, while I sliced up Dean as Alastair did in hell, so I read on tha’ girl’s journal.

I pushed Sam’s wrapped up head off of Dean’s chest and threw it together with Dean’s sealed head on the ever growing pile of Sam pieces.

As I was halfway through with Dean, Walt came to help. We had trouble with the legs. Dean wore those heavy leather boots, going up half his lower legs, and those were a bitch to cut through, we had to remove them, which led to blood bein’ splattered all over the room, because his legs were just that, legs, and nothing else.

An hour later we were done and the Winchester boys bagged and loaded. Walt and me eagerly awaitin’ there salt’n’burn.

 o ~ o ~ o ~ o

Later that day we found an abandoned field just outside the borders of South Dakota. Maybe Bobby Singer wants a picture of the boys’ last hooray. No one else would care.

Walt and me found some dry wood, salt an’ gas we had, also dead body parts. We started the fire and threw ‘em in. Part for part. Saved t’ heads for last.

"Maybe we should say a prayer or somethin,’ they were hunters," I said to Walt.

"They were murderers, God won’t save ‘em."

And with tha’ the story should have ended. But a week later I was reading that girl’s journal again, Becky was her name, a new part was up called "Dark Side of the Moon." Walt and me were in it. The shootin’ was too, the cutting, the slicing, the saltin’ and the burning weren’t. There was a heaven and angels, a broken Dean an’ it ended with Sam rummagin’ through his own puke, gettin’ out some necklace Dean just threw in the trash.

I didn't believe i’, so I called up Bobby Singer, the Winchester boys were alive and kickin’ demon and angel butts alike. So all was true. I told Walt in the only way he would understand. Told him he was right, tha’ God didn’t save them.

God ordered an angel to do so.

  **THE END**


End file.
